


Pageantry

by shedrovemehere



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: (just a little), F/M, Gen, Magical Realism, Zack is also here, so is the rest of szkg, suzuki-gun - Freeform, verbose supervillain monologuing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 19:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19910890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shedrovemehere/pseuds/shedrovemehere
Summary: Taichi is unsettled after adopting Takashi Iizuka's Iron Finger, and Minoru Suzuki isn't happy about it either—it threatens to endanger every member of Suzuki-gun, and even threatens the existence of the group.





	Pageantry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beedekka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beedekka/gifts).



> Among other things, this references Takashi Iizuka's retirement match, after which Taichi grabbed Iizuka's famous iron glove that he'd left in the ring. In the ring and in his postmatch comments, Taichi was 'listening' to the glove, like it was talking to him, and he said he wondered whether it had *really* been Iizuka's intention to retire.

Everyone’s already left, except Taichi. And that thing is still sitting there in the ring, shiny and dumb-looking. The crowd is still chanting Iizuka’s name, haphazardly, not in unison. As Taichi leans on the ring post trying to summon the strength to walk to the back, he hears the crowd swell like waves between two ships, voices bouncing off each other, reflecting and refracting. He needs water. It almost sounds like they’re saying “Taichi,” but then if he focuses, he hears “Iizuka” again.

 _I don’t know how they ever let him have that thing._ Iizuka’s Iron Finger was clearly against the regulations, _but nobody fucks with Suzuki-gun_. Taichi smirks to himself fondly. _Let them tell us no. Send a Young Boy to do it, ha!_ The Iron Finger should stay with Suzuki-gun. _It should stay with *me.*_ He chuckles. It’s almost unfair, to have even _more_ of an advantage than he already has. Already, Taichi can see how the crowd is always drawn into his song. He can see their jealous eyes flash with guilt when they tell him to go home. They know who they’re shrieking at; _cowards_ , they never say it to him one-on-one. They’re afraid. _And they should be._

He slides into the ring and picks up the Iron Finger. It’s lighter than he’d expected, but it also looks less silly up close like this. He can see dents and scratches from years of serving its grim purpose, but he can also tell that it once gleamed. He’s never seen it so closely; Miho was so frightened by Iizuka, and Taichi knew he had to protect her, so he never went near. For some reason he holds the Finger to his ear, like a sea shell, like he’ll be able to hear echoing pain.

 _It needs to look like a coincidence,_ the Finger says to him, almost directly into his mind, stoic and warm. _What?!_ He holds the Finger to his ear again, and hears nothing. Maybe it’s the weird sounds of the crowd. He really _does_ need water.

He almost forgets that he needs to say words to the gaggle of press idiots standing backstage, waiting to hear his insights. Still holding the Finger to his ear, he walks over to the comment area, and hears it again, _it needs to look like a coincidence._

It throws him off; he’s really shaken, even though he’s normally unflappable. He’s worried. “I wonder whether he _really_ wanted to retire,” Taichi finds himself saying. “I wonder if it was really his choice.” _It needs to look like a coincidence._ Did someone want Iizuka gone? “I will keep this for him,” he tells the reporters. “Not that I’m asking him to come back, of course. But if he didn’t really mean to retire, this way he knows I have it.”

Someone wanted it to look natural, Iizuka retiring, leaving his Finger in the ring. Maybe this thing is more powerful than he realizes. Suddenly the sweat on his skin feels clammy and cold, as he realizes he should have kept quiet to the press. What if _it needs to look like a coincidence_ was a warning to _him,_ Taichi? His mind reels. _Fucked up the thing already, before I even got a chance to use it. Dammit._

No one else is in the Suzuki-gun locker room. Just as well, he’s still dizzy. He chugs a bottle of water, then puts on his clothes without showering; he needs some air. He heads through the passage in the locker room that goes up to the roof of Korakuen. He looks out over the lights of Tokyo; Tokyo Dome City nearby, the bridge to the industrial area, the plaza below. All familiar, nothing odd. _Deep breaths._ Taichi has figured out bigger mysteries than this. Pretty badass, actually. _Miho would agree, of course._ He calls Miho.

“Eee!” Miho answers in excitement. “I saw you found the metal hand!” He can hear the bright smile in her voice. Sometimes he’s amazed by how much she adores him.

“Yes, Mi-chan, the Iron Finger,” he says, gently correcting her, though he guesses “metal hand” isn’t much more ridiculous than _Iron Finger._

“I was so afraid of it, but now you’ll have to show it to me,” she says excitedly. “You are already amazing without it, of course.” Lovely Miho. So good to him. _What would she do without me?_ “I saw you listening to it, my love. Did it tell you a secret?” Miho giggles; it sounds like music.

“Actually, it—“ _it needs to look like a coincidence._ Miho can’t know. He usually tells her everything, but whatever this is, Taichi’s instincts tell him she can’t be caught up in it. He has to protect her. “eh, heh, it says ‘Mi-chan deserves a bubble bath tonight.’”

She laughs. “It must have secret powers,” she says “I’m already in my bubble bath!” 

_If you only knew._ “I’m glad you have listened to the metal hand,” Taichi says, trying to sound casual. “Enjoy your evening, darling. I love you.”

“I love you too, be careful, muah!” Miho says. She laughs as she hangs up.

 _Be careful?_ Taichi shakes it off; she always worries for him. He sighs, calmer now. He looks at the Iron Finger, and thinks about bringing it up to his ear again, but he figures he’s got the message already.

When he gets back into the locker room, his bag is packed, and Desperado and Kanemaru are standing there in their Suzuki-gun track suits.

“Thanks for packing my bags, Young Lions,” Taichi says; a fun little joke he has with his colleagues who are still Junior Heavyweights. Taichi remembers being like them, but he was never made for that life the way Despy and Kanemaru are. They just stare at him. Kanemaru takes a sip from his bottle of Suntory. Taichi suddenly remembers he’s holding the Iron Finger, and it feels hot in his hand as he remembers what it told him. _What it told me?_ He hides it behind his back.

Despy, as usual, looks like a sullen teenager who would rather be somewhere else. “Boss wants to talk to you.”

“Oh… kay?” Taichi wonders why Suzuki didn’t just call him. And then whether he’s fucked up. He gets a jolt of anxiety in his chest, but then is oddly comforted when he remembers times he’s fucked up in the past, and Suzuki called him _immediately_. “Now?"

“Now,” Kanemaru sighs, and Despy makes a variation on the chagrined, resigned face that’s his reaction to most things. He walks toward the showers, unlocks a nearby utility closet, then goes in.

Taichi has never seen this closet open before, and Kanemaru nods toward it, like Taichi’s just supposed to head on in there? _Why would Suzuki be in the utility closet?_ He shoves the Iron Finger in his gym bag, then grabs it and walks toward the closet.

It’s... not a closet. It’s a stairwell, one Taichi has never seen. Despy is already at the landing at the top of the stairs. Taichi walks in, and Kanemaru comes through as well, closing and locking the door behind him, switching on what looks like a security camera, just inside the door.Taichi thinks how terrified Miho would be. “Did you guys know about this?” He gets to the top of the stairs, and there’s another flight.

“About what, the stairs?” Kanemaru says, like it’s an incredibly stupid question.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Taichi says, affecting nonchalance, not really knowing exactly what it is that everyone didn’t tell him.

“Don’t whine about it, Taichi,” Kanemaru says, as kindly as one could say something like that. “We’re friends, okay?”

Somehow Taichi isn’t comforted. He just keeps quiet as he climbs what feels like another ten flights of stairs, watching the tassels on the back of Despy’s mask bounce up and down with each step. At the top of those stairs is another door, which Despy unlocks with another key, and ushers Taichi through. There’s a long windowless hallway, all in concrete, with a door at the end. Kanemaru locks the door behind them, and checks another security camera. Despy gets to the door at the end of the hallway, waits for Taichi and Kanemaru to catch up, then punches in a code to an electronic keypad. _How does he know the code?_

The heavy security door opens to a tiled vestibule beyond which, to Taichi’s astonishment, is an airy atrium, surrounded in glass. The vestibule itself has a peacefully bubbling fountain, and in front of it is a low tea table, set with a simple tea service and a tray of fresh crudité with a variety of dipping sauces, and small china plates.

Taichi is speechless as he realizes that almost every member of Suzuki-gun is here, sitting around the tiled anteroom on stylish futons and lounges. In one corner, Davey Boy and Lance are playing chess, and in a different corner, Taka is curled up with a cup of tea, typing on a laptop. In the center of the room is a raised platform with a futon, pillows, and another smaller table. Minoru Suzuki is sprawled next to the table, writing something in a notebook. Next to him is Zack Sabre Jr., wearing some reading glasses as he leafs through a dog-eared pocket-sized book with a head of lettuce on the cover. No one looks up to see Taichi, or seems to care that he’s there. Almost all of them are wearing their Suzuki-gun track suits.

Taichi whips around to look at Kanemaru and Desperado, who don’t respond to his stares of incredulity. Despy shrugs mildly, goes over to a futon, sits down, and starts softly picking at a guitar that’s sitting there. Kanemaru grabs a few veggie slices and some hummus from the snack plate, gesturing to Taichi to take a plate for himself.

Instead of eating, he glares at Suzuki. Normally, in a situation like this, Taichi would absolutely march right up to that strange little man and demand to know what’s going on, maybe kick the notebook off the table for good measure. But his instincts tell him he should play it cool, save his ass-kicking ways for later, if they’re needed.

Suzuki puts his pen down and softly closes his notebook. “Taichi,” he says as if he hasn’t seen Taichi in years. “Welcome.”

Taichi can barely _see,_ he’s so angry. _They’ve been hanging out without me!_ “Haven’t I been loyal to you for years? Longer than almost anyone here?” He thinks maybe his voice squeaks, but he probably just imagined it.

Suzuki looks almost amused. “Ah.” Next to Suzuki, Zack smiles a smarmy grin that’s probably supposed to be sympathetic, and Taichi wants to break one of his noodle-arms. “Sit down,” Suzuki says to Taichi, motioning to his futon.

Taichi, bewildered and livid, doesn’t know what else to do, so he sits.

“I’m truly sorry it had to happen like this,” Suzuki begins, in that quiet, gentle way that’s almost scarier than his rage-spiked growl. “You’re right, you deserved all the benefits of Suzuki-gun, more than most of these fools. You, the most loyal of my wayward children.”

Taichi finally looks at Suzuki’s face, and he looks strangely sincere, even though the words coming out of his mouth are vaguely threatening. _Now that I think about it, maybe everything he says is vaguely threatening_.

“And you _did_ have it, Taichi,” Suzuki continues, “more than you know. This,” he gestures to the room, “hasn’t been around very long. A couple of years at most.”

“A couple of _years_?!” Taichi says, wounded, before he can stop himself.

Suzuki lays a comforting hand on Taichi’s hand. “Let me explain.” He sits up, and Zack closes his book to watch Suzuki. “I recognized long ago that I could scare people into loving me and following me. For a while, we had all of New Japan Pro Wrestling by the balls. But of course, as we became bigger and bigger stars, the front office started to notice more. A bruised Young Boy here, a broken barricade there; a jumped opening bell every so often. They reviewed the tapes and found that we sometimes—and I don’t believe a word of it, Taichi—cheated to win our matches.”

“I think I recall something like that happening once or twice in the past,” Taichi says cautiously. Although he himself never bent the rules, he’s pretty sure he remembers others saying they were considering it.

“Very blown out of proportion, of course,” Suzuki says, “but the company threatened to stop putting us in shows. Called me into the office, like I would bow and scrape to them. _Psh_.” Zack rolls his eyes in agreement. “But. Their word is law. So I had a choice on my hands. If I agreed to submit myself to the company, lick the chairman’s boots, toe the line, and get all my children to do the same; if I was a _good boy_ , Suzuki-gun could continue to have matches. But if we continued our independent ways, we’d slowly lose status, have fewer and fewer matches, smaller and smaller paychecks. They _threatened_ me, Taichi. And they threatened my children.” Suzuki looks hurt.

“But I don’t feel like anything has really changed,” Taichi says, totally lost.

Suzuki chuckles. “Heh. Well, you know me by now, Taichi. I’m not a subtle man. I like violence. To me, pro-wrestling without violence is dull and flashy; empty, like eating candy when you wanted a steak. I wanted to keep the blood _and_ the paycheck. And I wanted that for all of you, too.”

This is a _lot._ First, the talking metal hand, then the secret luxury Suzuki-gun clubhouse, then… apparently the boss has somehow blackmailed the company into letting them do anything they want? Taichi opens his mouth to ask a question, but he doesn’t even know where to start.

Suzuki goes over to the tea table and pours himself some tea. “A good leader knows his strengths and weaknesses. A good leader knows when to delegate. I don’t have the stomach or the patience or the manners for politicking and greasing palms. So my protégé has been running things for several years now, making sure Suzuki-gun gets to cause the violence we love and still get the paychecks we deserve. Without my lifting a finger, Suzuki-gun does whatever we want in New Japan Pro Wrestling.” He looks triumphant.

Taichi looks at Zack, who has a dopey grin on his stupid angular face. “So you’ve been running the show this whole time, bastard? _You_ kept me out of the loop?”

Zack just laughs, like uncontrollable laughter, gasping for breath. At this point everyone in the room is looking.

Taichi is better than this, he knows it. He turns to Suzuki, ready to say the most blistering insult he can conjure, but all that comes out is “Sensei, why not me?"

Suzuki is silent for a moment, then before he can speak, Zack slaps the table in front of him. “No!” Zack says between gulps for air. “I’m sorry for laughing,” Zack says, not seeming very sorry. “Are you having me on, mate? _Nihongo ga wakarimasen;_ how in the bloody hell am I going to smooth-talk the chairman?” He wipes tears from his eyes. At this point, others in the room are starting to laugh quietly.

“Zack,” admonishes Suzuki, “that’s no way to speak to your Holy Emperor.” He smiles warmly, and again it’s almost more unsettling than his usual cold, steely grin.

“Holy Emperor?” Zack scoffs derisively, still giggling. “God is a fairy tale, and monarchs are only good for feeding to guillotines,” he sneers, like he’s unable to help himself. Everyone’s laughing now, and even Suzuki is trying not to laugh.

Taichi remembers reading a story about a man finding a monkey’s paw that made everything go wrong, feel like a bad dream. _Is the Iron Finger cursed?_ Taichi can barely see, can barely talk, _the fury_. That everyone in this room knew. That they all laughed at him. Everyone knew except Taichi, everyone in on the joke. An outrage. An injustice. A disgusting lie.

“Stop,” comes a familiar voice, calm and steady, from the doorway to the atrium. The room immediately falls silent, even Suzuki.

Miho, in a long black silk robe, leans agains the doorway smiling beatifically. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She runs to Taichi and hugs him fiercely, smelling bath-fresh.

“My protégé,” Suzuki says proudly. “The woman who keeps the bribes paid and the critics quiet. The mastermind. No one suspects the fragile, terrified acolyte of the Holy Emperor."

Taichi's speechless. He says the first thing he can think to say. "Well, at least Zack's not really your favorite." It sounds more petulant than he means for it to.

Suzuki laughs grimly. "Oh, no, Zack _is_ my favorite." Zack gives Taichi a superior, self-satisfied smirk. "But that doesn't for a second mean I'd trust him with all that I've built." Zack doesn't look offended, he just makes a face like _that's totally fair,_ and goes back to his book."If I wanted a hot-headed smartass to run things around here, I'd just do it myself. When I was young and stupid like him, I thought I didn't need anyone to keep _me_ in line too. Now I'm old enough to know better." He laughs to himself and turns back toward Taichi. "When they said 'the boss wants to talk to you,' who did they mean, do you figure?”

Miho smiles, "thank you. You are very kind."

Suzuki rolls his eyes. "Bullshit, Abe-san, you're not that modest. You got Iizuka out of here without so much as an impolite goodbye."

Miho smirks, and raises her eyebrows.

"' _You are very kind_ ,' says Miss Abe-gun," Suzuki says with a kind of put-upon gratitude. No one in the room seems surprised by that comment, somehow.

Taichi is at once utterly shocked and kicking himself for not piecing it together before. Suddenly it all makes sense. How Tama Tonga nearly got fired for doing things Suzuki-gun does a few times every week. How Suzuki himself regularly injures future New Japan talent—jeopardizes the company’s investment—without so much as a slap on the wrist. How Zack can throw terrible temper tantrums, how Kanemaru and Desperado can fight dirty against Roppongi 3K over and over again. Sweet, timid Miho! Miho who thinks the stars shine in Taichi’s eyes! _What else has been a lie?_ He feels sick, and sits down on the futon. Everyone goes back to what they were doing, except Miho and Suzuki, who sit down on either side of him.

“So… this is all… you’re not really afraid of everyone?” Taichi says. Not the most important question, but the first one that manages to come out of his mouth.

“No,” Miho says gently. “Like the boss says, no one suspects.”

“How do you do it? What do you do? Are you…” he can’t even think it.

“Fucking them? Hell no! I understand why you’d wonder that, but please don’t worry, darling. I’ve got so much to tell you,” Miho says, wrapping her arms around his bicep and laying her head on his shoulder.

Suzuki smacks Taichi on his other arm. “Oy. Suzuki-gun is a family. Don’t think we took this lightly, keeping you out of here, keeping you in the dark. It was for your safety, and Abe-san’s. So stop your whining,” he says, whatever brief kindness had come over him fading. It’s strangely comforting. “Now that you have the Iron Finger, we had no choice. It’s really inconvenient for us that you were the one to take it, but we’ll figure it out.” _It has to look like a coincidence._ Does Suzuki know? Suzuki smacks him again. “Don’t fuck this up.” He leaves to go back to his tea.

Miho pulls Taichi to his feet, and leads him into the atrium; a huge enclosed glass room with trees and plants of every kind, all blooming and beautiful, looking out over the lights of Tokyo.

“Iizuka really _was_ retiring,” Miho says, to begin her explanation. “But the Iron Finger… it’s very powerful, my love. As you may have already noticed, it has some abilities that don’t seem real.”

Taichi has a million questions, and isn’t even sure if he can trust Miho. All he can say is “yes.”

“The company knows how powerful it is. And Iizuka… well, he _was_ retiring, but we suspected he was not loyal to Suzuki-gun anymore. We suspected he would hand it over to the chairman. If he did, we would lose much of our leverage. Bribes, blackmail, and scams only go so far. We needed to keep it in Suzuki-gun hands,” she says, shuddering a little as if remembering the anxiety of nearly losing the Iron Finger.

“You’ve been blackmailing people?” Taichi says. Again, not the most relevant question.

“Yes. Anyway, the plan was for Iizuka to bring the Iron Finger with him backstage. We had some safeguards in place in case he didn’t, but the company directed the Young Lions to escort Suzuki-gun out of the arena. You were left, thank heaven. And somehow, you knew to grab it.” She smiles.

“It was a lucky coincidence,” Taichi says weakly.

“Mm,” Miho says in agreement. She’s led them to a secluded patio area, where there's a small structure that looks like a tea house or garden house, and a little courtyard with a big clawfoot bathtub that overlooks the city; probably the bathtub she was in when he called her earlier. There's also a fountain here, and a small stone bench. He can hear nighttime birds chirping in the trees above. Miho sits them down on the bench.

“How did you get a place like this? This is incredible."

"I'm resourceful," she says simply, as though that explains a piece of real estate worth hundreds of millions of yen, unknown to the world, set aside only for her and her closest associates.

Taichi's mind is still spinning. "So it’s all a lie, then. All of it, you being afraid of other wrestlers, nearly fainting when you get upset, crying when I lose, playing dumb when people ask you about things?” Taichi doesn’t want to ask about the thing that matters most, here.

“It’s all a front,” Miho confirms, nodding, looking down at her hands in her lap, fiddling with the gold embroidered vines on her sleeve. “I have… abilities. It’s why I need to be here to help with the Iron Finger. It has powers, and so do I.” 

Somehow, this isn’t surprising. “Like, magical powers?” How much had she manipulated him?

Miho laughs uneasily. “Well, I don’t like to think of them that way; they don’t feel magical to me. I just feel like I can use parts of my mind that others can’t. To influence people, to change energy surrounding someone or something, just subtly. I feel like I can see and feel more than others, and use it to change the tone of a situation. But I don’t know anyone else who can do it, so maybe other people would call it magical. I don’t know.”

She's never lied to him before, that he knows of. And when he thinks about her effect on other people, he can easily see what she means. "Does Suzuki know?"

" _No one_ knows," Miho says sternly. "No one _can_ know, my darling. Except you. They all just think I am very persuasive and insightful." Her smile practically twinkles with satisfied pride.

“... Were you making Suzuki be kind to me?” Taichi asks incredulously.

Miho bites her lower lip. “I might have just… softened him a little... but the 'Abe-gun' thing was all him!” She grins despite herself, obviously proud of her talent. “Anyway, I don’t think NJPW suspects it. Even so, the back office despises me, although they’ve come to respect my negotiating tactics. They’d very much love to have me out of the way, and the rest of Suzuki-gun too. I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

“I would have kept your secret,” Taichi says miserably. _What else was a lie?_

“It’s not that,” Miho says. She takes Taichi’s hands, turns toward him. _Here it comes._ “I had to protect you.”

Taichi’s mind blanks. “You… had to protect… me?” It’s too much. “It’s all been a lie! You didn’t need me, you never loved me!” _And why would she?_ What could a genius fashion model psychic superspy need from a failed wannabe pop singer who loves to hit people with a mic stand?

Miho sighs. “I’m sorry.” Taichi’s heart sinks into his stomach. “I put you in danger, and I’m sorry,” she says, sounding like she’s going to cry. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but the one true thing in all of this is I’m completely crazy about you.”

Taichi wants to put this through more rigorous testing, but he also has never wanted to believe something so much in his life. “... What?”

“Your music is so brilliant and your passion is inspiring. You amaze me, and make me want to try harder,” Miho sobs. "And they know it."

Taichi sits silently for a moment, thinking of all the chickenshit things he's done. Wondering if it would be easier to just keep being chickenshit. Maybe... maybe Miho is worth it. "How am I supposed to believe that?" he says quietly, not angrily but sadly. "You just told me you can manipulate people's feelings without them knowing. How do I know what's real?" He's never felt this close to losing her; it's all new, this idea that _he_ needs to keep _her,_ now. Or, that maybe there never was anything to keep...

"I know," she says immediately, like she was braced for it. She sniffles and sighs, looks down sadly. "I know you may not believe me. I know there is no way for me to prove this to you... but I never wanted to use my powers on you. Too many times I used them in love, but I finally realized that I want... _need..._ someone to choose me, all on their own." She squeezes his hand. "It's not like I wasn't tempted to... I've been so afraid that you wouldn't want me anymore when you found out I wasn't some helpless waif."

Taichi puts his arms around her and pulls her into his chest. "I'm a terrible person Abe Miho, and you have absolutely _awful_ taste in men _and_ music." Miho giggles through her tears. "But I'm not that _particular_ kind of terrible person." For all the preparing he's done for his fall from grace, for all he's always suspected she and everyone who wastes their time with him will leave once he's no longer useful to them, he couldn't have expected this. That the worst came true: he _isn't_ useful to her, not at all. And she's still here. "I think I'd like having an equal—actually, someone I can admire—much more than I like having a follower." 

Miho takes Taichi's face in her hands and kisses both his cheeks, his forehead, chin, cheeks again, nose, then throws her arms around his neck. “I thought so! I hoped I wasn't just seeing what I wanted to see." She wipes her eyes, regains her composure. "So... that’s why you couldn’t know. That’s why I had to keep all of this from you, and it’s why Suzuki didn’t want you to have the Iron Finger.” Her wide eyes are full of tears again. “They knew if they wanted to hurt me, they could hurt you. I’m too valuable to Suzuki-gun because of my abilities, but you are my vulnerability. We all had to keep you safe, all of us. There’s a target on you, because I love you."

Taichi rests his head on the top of hers, softly running his hand through the length of her hair. “You don’t have to worry about me now, Mi-chan. I have the Iron Finger. I can protect myself when the company sends someone to try to hurt me.”

Miho perks up. “Yes. Exactly. Suzuki didn’t want you to have it, he was afraid you represent a vulnerability that could threaten our sweetheart deal. And you probably do. Well, you _definitely_ do. But we’ll deal with it. I’ve gotten us out of much worse." She looks down again, wiping tears on her sleeve. "... And I swear, I'll understand if you don't believe me, but I never used my powers on you. Until today. Everything had to be perfect so it looked like a coincidence. It was to keep you safe, but I hated it. I never want to do it again. I'm so sorry.” 

_Coincidence._ “It has to look like a coincidence..." Taichi finally sees what's been staring him in the face. "Because you made it happen, didn't you? And it has to look like an accident so the boss won't know you did it." He's a little afraid of this feeling, of being in awe of her, but he's surprised how much he likes it. There's so much potential for what they can achieve together. "But it's not a coincidence at all, is it Mi-chan?"

Miho grins triumphantly. “Not one bit of it left to chance."   
  
Taichi kisses her forehead. "Clever Abe-san, I trust you. I had no idea how lucky I was to have you on my side."

She beams with pride and love, an expression he's seen so many times, taking on an entirely new meaning, now. "I will not let Suzuki-gun fail; I have kept us safe, even though they don't really know how I did it. I am very loyal to Suzuki-gun." She lays her head on his shoulder sweetly, like it's the only place she wants to be. "But my darling, above all, I am loyal to _you_." 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like it! :)


End file.
